


The Plot Hole Beyond Time

by MVKramer



Category: Chrono Cross, Chrono Trigger
Genre: Absurd, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dimension Travel, Disguise, F/M, Humor, Hypocrite Demi-Humans, Hypocrite Dragons, Hypocrite Dwarves, Magic-Users, Time Travel, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MVKramer/pseuds/MVKramer
Summary: New islands, new species, and even a second moon are appearing out of nowhere. Some sinister force is trying to kill Crono, Marle, and Lucca. Schala teaches Lavos what it means to be human--and bored. And for some reason, humans are to blame for everything. A crazy, silly attempt to link Chrono Trigger and Chrono Cross together.





	The Plot Hole Beyond Time

_Chronopolis Military Research Center, 2400 A.D._

“Are we all ready?” called the director from his chair.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Firkin said. Huey just nodded. _I’m a scientist, not an actor,_ he thought. _Why did I ever agree to do this?_

“Right, then,” the director said. “’The Frozen Flame Experiment,’ take one. And…action!”

_I heard group 3B’s experiment today is going to be a biggie. They’re releasing the Flame’s lock-level to D in order to trace the counter-time effect...”_ Huey said, trying not to speak in a monotone.

_"Yeah, but based on previous experiments, I’m sure it’ll work out just fine!”_ _said Firkin cheerfully._ He sounded way too chipper, considering Huey had just recited a sentence from group 3B’s latest lab report. _“_ _During their simulation, FATE guaranteed that they would be able to use the Flame as an up-link to extract the anti-annihilation energy associated with it. Don’t worry, it’ll be a success.”_ __  
  
_“I hope so...”_ said Huey, stifling a yawn.

__

_“Once we’re done with today’s experiment, we have that long awaited 3 week vacation. I’m heading back to Zenan to spend time with my family. My daughter’s birthday is coming up, you know,”_ Firkin said. _  
_

_"You’re from Medina, right? I’ve been on this island for a year and a half now. Man, I’ve had enough,”_ said Huey. Truer words had never been spoken. His stomach growled; he hoped the director couldn’t hear it. _“_ _Aside from the man-made island with this research center, there isn’t a single island in the sea of El Nido.”_ __  
  
_“Once we’re able to counter time successfully at will, we’ll have full control over time. We’ll find out soon enough,”_ Firkin said. __  
  
_“You said it. I can’t believe we’ve come this far...”_ droned Huey. Wasn’t it almost lunchtime? Maybe the cafeteria was serving squid-gut cannelloni today…

__

“Cut!” shouted the director. “Huey, where’s your enthusiasm? Come on; this should be an exciting moment! You’re about to make a big-time experiment, and you sound like you’re reading a tablet user agreement!”

“We’re not making the Time Experiment for another two days,” Huey pointed out.

“So, what? This is a _film!_ You’re supposed to be _acting!_ ” The director slapped his forehead in frustration.

“Yeah, about that…why didn’t you hire professional actors for this, again? And for that matter, why are we making a movie about this? Why not just film us as we do the experiment?”

“Because this is how the Prophet wants to do it,” the director answered, “and he’s paying me fifty million G. Now, places, you two: let’s take it from the top.”

_Well, I can kiss my cannelloni good-bye,_ thought Huey. He sighed and tried to focus on the Frozen Flame Experiment, rather than his hunger.

“And…action!”

* * *

_"The DNA records are poems and music... Adenine and Thymine... Guanine and Cytosine... Rhythm and Melody... Perhaps the DNA of the ones who make contact with the Flame is recomposed by the sound they generate within? I wonder if life-forms are just dreaming in an endless flow of music?_ You’re kidding about this, right?” said Marco, turning to the Prophet in disbelief.

“I never joke about my work,” the Prophet replied. As usual, he was busy with a crossword puzzle.

“This is not how DNA works!” Marco said, slamming the script onto the table. “It’s got nothing to do with music!”

“That doesn’t matter: it’s poetic. It sounds deep and artistic,” said the Prophet, still not looking up. “What’s a six-letter word for ‘tedious’?”

“’Boring,’” replied Marco. “But seriously: first you want this film to be as scientifically accurate as possible, to the point where the guys downstairs are practically reading from their lab reports, and now you’re trying to connect DNA with poetry and music and I don’t know what else. What’s your actual plan, here?”

“To make an entertaining movie of the most important moment in scientific history!” the Prophet said, finally looking up. “Now stop nitpicking; audiences are going to love it.”

Off at the other end of the room, Gwen, a computer scientist, was practicing her lines: _“Two worlds that are so close, and yet so far in nature, exist in different dimensions. Under the surveillance of the main computer of Chronopolis... 'FATE’. In other words, FATE, has always been observing the 2 parallel worlds, and guiding them. Fate has been manipulating the world of El Nido, in order to avoid any major change to the history it knows. If an event on El Nido influences the main continent, the year 2400, in which FATE exists, would change. This paradox could potentially lead to great disaster...”_

“Uh…are audiences going to love _that?_ Being lectured, I mean? Did you decide to change this to a documentary?” Marco asked.

“No,” said the Prophet.

“Well, then, why all the lecturing?”

“Because we need to make absolutely sure that future audiences understand our Time Experiment,” said the Prophet.

“Oh, come on; movie audiences aren’t that stupid,” said Marco, shaking his head. “We could cut that line down to a third of its size.”

“Remember how many people who saw _Reptite Wars III_ thought Azala’s name was Tyranno?” the Prophet said.

“Okay, okay, you’ve got a point,” admitted Marco. “It just sounds a little long, that’s all.”

“It’s long, but it’s _thorough_ ,” the Prophet said. He laid down his crossword book—the old-fashioned kind, made of paper and filled out with pens—and stared intently at Marco. “Thoroughness is an important part of any scientific experiment, _and_ any film script. We can’t leave any stone unturned. Just as we have to make sure no step of an experiment goes wrong, we have to make sure no line of a script remains misunderstood by the audience. Therefore…”

“Okay, okay, I get the picture,” Marco said hastily. The Prophet was about to launch into one of his thirty-minute, impromptu lectures. All the scientists at the facility knew it was important to stop him before he really got warmed up.

The Prophet looked at Marco with narrowed eyes, sniffed briefly to show he was offended, and turned back to his puzzle. _Dodged a bullet, there_ , Marco thought. _Maybe it’s better not to complain about the script_. Reading asinine lines was better than listening to the Prophet drone on about nothing for a whole half-hour.

* * *

 

_Dinopolis, 65,002,400 A.V._

The pink and white towers of the city seemed to blush in the morning sunshine. Their color contrasted beautifully with the green of the trees and the blue of the lakes below. Today, every tower was crowded with Dragonians. Some perched on the spires, while some stood on the roofs and balconies. Some, disdaining to keep their feet on the ground, hovered in the air, their wings causing a refreshing, sulfur-scented breeze to waft over the entire city.

All their attention was focused on the great winged, floating tower at the center of the city. Terra Tower, the marvel of Dragonian architecture. Carved out of the living rock, into the shape of Dragonian wings. A fitting home for their ruler and god, who had condescended to speak to them on this holiest of days.

“Hear ye, hear ye, all ye Dragonians,” boomed the Dragon God, hovering over the winged tower. “We gather here today to celebrate the 65,002,400th anniversary of our victory over the apes.”

Wild roars, grunts, and cheers rose from the crowds. Wings fluttered, smoke and mist poured from thousands of nostrils, and stone roofs and balconies groaned and creaked under the weight of spectators bouncing up and down on them.

The Dragon God beamed at its worshipers, its fangs glittering in the morning sun. “To begin our celebration, let us sing Hymn #3,452!”

Somewhere, a deep voice, like the rumbling of an underground volcano, began to hum the tune. The hidden Dragonian next began to beat time with his feet, shaking the ground. The Dragonians lifted up their voices in their cherished, two-century-old song that celebrated St. Azala’s victory.

_“Long ago, in eons past,_

_The evil apes were crushed at last._

_Our Reptite ancestors were blest._

_They freed the planet of this pest._

 

_Stinky, hairy, stupid, vile,_

_Greedy, destructive, infantile,_

_A race of mutant, large-brained freaks,_

_Were beaten in a matter of weeks._

_‘Twas well the world was all swept clean,_

_Of this foul species, so obscene._

_Elsewise, had it not happened so,_

_They would have been this planet’s foe!_

_They would have cut down all the trees!_

_And caused the fertile fields to freeze!_

_Polluted waters, fouled up air,_

_And built their cities everywhere!_

_But St. Azala, blest be she,_

_Destroyed them all and set us free._

_And so today, we celebrate_

_The day that made our species great!_

The roars and cheers broke out again when the song had finished. The Dragon God grinned, displaying all its fangs. This 65,002,400th anniversary celebration was off to a good start.

Yet all was not well. Deep in the brain of the Dragon God, a small voice protested.

_“Why are we celebrating the extinction of another species, again?”_

_“Because that species was evil_ ,” the rest of the Dragon God answered, trying to drown out the lone voice.

_“How?”_

_“It would have destroyed the planet with its greedy, destructive ways. If we hadn’t defeated the apes, they would have cut down our forests and polluted our oceans!”_

_“But_ how? _The apes lived in caves when they were defeated. In_ caves!”

_“They would have evolved into freaks of nature that would have destroyed our environment!”_

_“How do you know that?”_

_“Never mind that; we know.”_

_“But our Reptite ancestors didn’t care about the planet any more than the apes did. From what I used to read, they built stone fortresses and burned down forests.”_

_“You’ve read too much.”_

_“I’m just saying it doesn’t make sense…”_

_“Yes, it does.”_

_“No, it doesn’t…”_

_“SHUT UP!”_

With that, the lone, skeptical voice fell silent. The Dragon God sighed with relief; smoke rose from its nostrils. Dragon #7 was a nuisance, but so far, yelling at her eventually got her to quiet down. None of the six Dragons knew for sure why their seventh companion was such a dud. Perhaps it was because she had no Elements associated with her.

Yet not even Dragon #7 could spoil such a perfect day. In fact, _nothing_ could spoil such a perfect day.

The Dragon God knew nothing of the concepts of dramatic irony, or of tempting fate. Therefore, this fatal thought came into its mind without a trace of sarcasm.

* * *

_The Darkness Beyond Time_

Schala first noticed the warmth. It was so comforting, so soothing. She kept her eyes shut, hoping to drift off to sleep, away from the pain in her memories.

But she couldn’t sleep, because she was standing up. No, she was _floating in the air_. Fear stirred in the pit of her stomach. Who was using magic on her? Was this her mother’s work? Or the Mammon Machine? She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, afraid to open them.

At least the searing heat, the pain that brought tears to her eyes, the raw power that seemed as if it would sweep her and the entire Kingdom of Zeal from the planet, were all gone. The Mammon Machine must have failed, and the beast had retreated back to its nest in the planet’s core. Or the beast had destroyed the planet, and Schala and everyone else were all dead. No, she couldn’t be dead; she had a faint sense of hunger, and she was getting uncomfortable floating like this. She tried to use a simple spell to lower herself to the floor.

Nothing happened. Frowning, she tried again, to no avail. She could not access any of her magic at all.

Her heart beat faster. As her anxiety grew, she began to notice more about her surroundings, although she was still afraid to open her eyes. Wherever she was, there was no sound, not so much as a breeze, or the sound of a bird, or a human voice. And the hunger she was feeling came not from herself, but someone—or something—else. In fact, it seemed to surround her.

She slowly opened her eyes and screamed as she stared at the flames of the beast. It wasn’t gone, it was right in front of her, so large that it filled her vision, so huge that she couldn’t see her mother or the Mammon Machine or Crono and his friends—or anything else. Orange flames not only in front of her eyes, but beside her, behind her, below her. She could feel the heat on her skin, as well as the hunger that wasn’t her own, and she knew: she was _inside_ the beast. _Inside Lavos_.

Schala screamed until she had no more breath, then screamed again once she’d gotten enough air—hot, Lavos-tainted air—into her lungs. She screamed for help that would never come, to fill the silence, to drown out Lavos’ hunger that now seemed to burn her skin along with the heat. She screamed until she was choking and feeling dizzy, and darkness mercifully closed in.

**Author's Note:**

> The lines in Belthasar's script are actual lines recited by ghosts in Chronopolis, in Chrono Cross. The poor punctuation, inconsistent capitalization, and frequent ellipses were all in the original lines.


End file.
